


Masked Devils

by urlocalbeech



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV), Peaky Blinders RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dominant Tommy Shelby, F/M, Gang Violence, Love, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, Quote: By Order of the Peaky Blinders (Peaky Blinders), Rough Sex, The Peaky Blinders - Freeform, Tommy Shelby Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 09:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urlocalbeech/pseuds/urlocalbeech
Summary: A renowned organisation located in London. The catch being that nobody has ever caught a glimpse of the heartless souls beneath the masks. They could be your neighbours, your friends, a kind face you’d wave to in the street ... with privacy, they’re practically invincible.Tommy Shelby was a fool to think he could win a fight without knowing his adversary ... but he’ll soon find that out.
Relationships: Ada Shelby & Tommy Shelby, Arthur Shelby/Linda Shelby, Esme Shelby/John Shelby, Finn Shelby & Tommy Shelby, Michael Gray/Polly Gray, Polly Gray & Tommy Shelby, Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons, Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark, Tommy Shelby/Original Character(s), Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s), Tommy Shelby/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tommy should really learn to ask before taking.

The stale, pungent smoke of Small Heath had been sifting in the air for so long that eventually, you couldn't get one without the other. Yet, even in all the murkiness, they scattered out of his way, maybe it was the confidence in his walk, or the aura of significance in the way he held himself. It didn't matter which it was, they dispersed from his path, nonetheless. 

Arthur was on to him the moment he walked into the Garrison, red and practically twitching with anger ... or it could've been fear, and he knew just what that meant. "You've done it now, Tommy." Arthur seethed, following him into the private room. "Done what? Secured us first-hand engines and cars?" His emphasis on 'first-hand' making it apparently clear how they were so used to second hand cars. They didn't sell as much as first hand models, and why didn't they deserve it? So he did it. He took from the gloved hand that single handedly held up the majority of London's underground. And he did it without a second thought. He did think that it would come with consequences, but he was sure it was nothing he couldn't handle. He took a smoke out, while simultaneously not being as phased as he should've been about the subject, he brought it to his lips and lit it. Arthur only blinked when he heard his brothers words. 

"So we're dead, then?" He nodded.

"No." Tommy puffed a ring of smoke from his lips and looked at his fearsome elder brother. "We might be sticking our neck out. But, we're gambling men, Arthur." He pointed his forefinger at him. "We always have been." He concluded.

__

Elijah was a ridiculously tall man, with skin just lighter than his black hair. Even through his thick coat, you could see his well built frame underneath. Ivy took pity on anyone the man yelled at because his voice could soar across the entire nation if he willed it to. And right now, she was pitiful to be the sorrowful soul forced to face his wrath. With one final sigh, she could see it in his coal-coloured eyes that he'd made his decision. He puffed and turned around, facing the velvet curtained windows, instead. 

"What are we going to do?" Ivy asked, her green eyes glaring through her brothers back. She was always the more logical one, and she was independent in her logic too. It was such a contrast to her looks; while her cheekbones were sharp and precise, she was ambiguous, and as most would describe, undecided. Elijah turned around, his frame had blocked the light coming in and as he moved, the sun practically made her brown skin glisten, like it was made to illuminate her. "You know how I handle violations." He answered, half scolding her for thinking any different. 

—

As if by divine command, a boat appeared on the horizon, glistening in the sunrise. They watched it make a steady approach, the outline of it becoming more clear every moment. Tommy's men watched it sail closer, in punctuated silence, they thought maybe it was someone just passing. So they watched it sail, rippling the same as water around, but it just didn't feel right. They hoped to see the shadow of it grow and fade, they hoped to long forget it, but that wasn't the case. They fired right at them. The men yelled and ducked and the shooting stopped for a fleeting second.

One of Tommy's men, Gerald, pushed his face closer, his mind ordering his body to fall in line. To retreat would be a disaster, a show of weakness an inlet for the enemy to surge through. But there was a time and a place to be brave and seeing as the most of them were unarmed, this sure as hell wasn't it.

They all recoiled as they entered their boat, a shame bubbling in their stomachs, they were being overrun by blacks and they couldn't say a word against it. 

"wada qaado." One of them said. The language sounded vaguely like Arabic, Gerald noticed. But it wasn't Arabic; the men on their decks, taking their shipments, didn't appear to look Arab, except their noses were slightly slimmer than west Africans and their hair were looser in comparison. He wondered if that was something he should mention to his boss, he didn't know it but their appearance were a huge clue, and that's why they made sure no one on that God forsaken, drug riddled boat, had the chance to even consider apprising a soul about what they'd seen.

It would be hard to tell anyone with a bullet in your brain.  
But, the message would stand just inimitably. And soon, Tommy would understand not to bite the hand that feeds you. Or, maybe, he won't. He certainly isn't a man to back down. He lived by the phrase an eye for an eye, his entire life. But, just because he plays it slightly fair, doesn't mean they will. And who decided how much value an eye holds? He stole two crates and they shot dead a bunch of his men while stealing half of this months shipments.

The gloved hand, the masked devils—whatever they were called, mercy wasn't written in it, that was certain.


	2. Chapter 2

It was more routine that pleasure. Ever since his late wife's passing, he'd been accustomed to visiting the Ritz; entangling himself in the advances of a lady of the night. It didn't suffice what he truly wanted, what he ached for but it helped. No matter how temporary it was, it helped. "Alexander, then?" The pimp disguised in the attire of a sham of what he called an honest job; a waiter, said. Tommy shook his head. "Someone different, then?" He asked, instantly regretting it when Tommy looked up to him with icy eyes. "Why do you think I shook my head?" His voice was startlingly low. The waiter nodded, hurriedly. "Aroura. You haven't had Aurora." He decides. Aroura was a favourite, customers often came and never wanted to leave. She was pretty in the face, with freckles, brown eyes and red hair. "I'll have Aroura." He nods, doing a motion with the hand he held his cigarette in and the 'waiter' got a move on.

-

She paid her double what Tommy would, and the redhead plucked the money from her manicured hands, brown met green, a silent agreement blossomed between the two as Aurora took the money from her. "Do I want to know?" Aroura's cockney accent was the only sound in the hallway of rooms. "No." Ivy plainly replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. The redhead nodded, her shoulder swiped Ivy's as she walked past her, and Ivy smirked as she reached for the handle of the door with the '38' nailed to it, the room reserved for Tommy Shelby, she twisted it's handle and pushed the door forward.

-

The heels on his shoes clicked against the wooden floor-work of the corridors and his steps were silenced by the carpeted floor of the room he'd reserved for the night. When he entered, the door swinged shut behind him, and his gaze locked on the figure by the window. The first thing he'd noticed was the mass of brown curls, then it was the hand holding the curtain open, and lastly the smooth skin beneath the silky lilac slip she wore. The colour reminded him of Grace, how beautiful she looked in her wedding dress, he pushed the thought away. That's what he was here for, to bury those memories. He'd sooner have that night dress off of her, anyway. 

She hadn't turned around, still. He didn't know why that irritated him. "Aroura then?" He spoke, and she whirled around. She was entrancing, with dark skin and light eyes, but he hadn't came here for a pretty face. The silk left little to the imagination, she was quite clearly a curvy woman, full breasts and wide hips, the sight sent blood rushing south. "I can be whoever you want me to be." She hadn't exactly lied and it worked so well, anyway. 

He hadn't been with a black woman before, the opportunity never really came up, but he knew it wasn't particularly any different. Well, he could only suppose, really. His fingers pulled at his coat and he draped it over the sofa attached to the end of the bed, he was working on unbuttoning his waistcoat next. Ivy sauntered towards him, she reached at his hands and pulled them away, he didn't bother to hide that he was irritated, it was written on his face but she did it anyway. Once it came undone, she looked up at him and their gazes caught, he couldn't admire the swirls in her emerald eyes with the distance between them before. But now that he had, he was momentarily rendered speechless. She forced herself not to admire his eyes, or his jawline, or his perfectly ripe lips. 

"How do you want me?" She asked, and his eyes flickered to the king sized bed, covered with green sheets. "On the bed." He nodded towards it, and she did as told. She sat on top of the sheets, towards the right side of the bed, but she left some space for him, he noticed. Her smooth long leg crossed over the other, and her head rested against the pillow as she watched him remove his shirt, then unbuckle his trousers and he manoeuvre around the bed, towards her. She didn't know what it felt like to be used as a whore would. Was he selfish in his need for pleasure? She couldn't care less. She just had to make it good for him, it would be good for him, otherwise it would all be for nothing. Elijah would go mad if he knew what she was up to, but she was independent in her logic, and her decisions.

She was too in her mind to realise he'd gotten so close, she even jumped when she felt his hand on her thigh. He was sat on the edge of the bed, and he retracted his hand instantly, his eyes snapping to her face. "It's fine. Just—go on." She encouraged and he raised an eyebrow but carried on. "Take the dress off." He ordered, Ivy didn't retract her green eyes from his own as sat up, she lifted her hands to the straps near her collarbones and smirked when his gaze dropped, her fingers curled around the straps and she let them slip, revealing herself to him. He got on the bed, his knees pressed against the mattress, and his fingers pressed into her hips, rolling the material down them, exposing her stomach, and everything that followed made his mouth water. He threw the dress across the room, mindlessly. He pulled his undergarments off, and she jolted when he ran two fingers down her cunt, she was already wet and he lathered himself with it. He wrapped his hands around himself and started rubbing as Ivy watched. "Fuck— if you keep looking at me like that, I won't last." He groaned, and she gasped when his hands swooped under the back of her knees and he pulled her towards him, he lined himself up and the next thing she knew, he was deep inside of her. Ivy wondered how and why life had led her to having Tommy Shelby buried inside her to the hilt. But, she wasn't complaining either. 

There wasn't any foreplay, warning or affection. Just as she had assumed. He wasn't here for that, he was here to get rid of an itch, and he didn't want the clinging that came once it was over and done with, whores were the more plausible option. How ironic that it would cause him more trouble than what he was avoiding. 

His thrusts were unbearably fast and harsh, his fingers dug into her hips with a —- she didn't want to say passion —- it was more like a hunger, a thirst he needed diminishing. His face was nothing short of restrained, he was holding himself together, but—

"Ohh." She moaned when he held her leg up, and swung it over his shoulder, the new position allowing himself to go deeper. She was quieter than the other whores, who were obnoxious in their sounds of pleasure, but it was good; he liked hearing her little gasps and whimpers here and then, it made him appreciate them more. His thrusts quickened and quickened until his hips stuttered and she knew he was becoming undone when his mouth formed a small 'o' , his eyebrows creased, and his eyes fluttered shut. She watched it, all whilst coming undone herself, but she kept her eyes open. She watched the traces of emotion on his face, before they'd be wiped off. He lowered himself, and instead, she found herself listening to the sound of his unsteady breaths and the feeling of his lips just on top of her collarbone, and for a moment, she could've swore she'd felt a bead of something wet trickle down her chest, it could've been sweat, or he could've been crying. 

She was putting her bets on the second option.


	3. Chapter 3

There was smoke and idle chit chat. She hadn't expected to get any words out of him, they were sat with their backs against the headboard and he surprised them both when he spoke up. "You new at this or something?" He sucked on his cigar as he waited for an answer. "Is it obvious?" She decided to play along to whatever he thought was the truth, even if she wasn't sure what that was. "Not to anyone who's not new to coming here." He answered. He hadn't offered her a smoke, so she plucked the cigarette box from his lap instead. He raised his eyebrows, surprised she had the nerve to, Ivy took one out and as she raised it to her lips, he took his lighter from the bed stand. She turned her face, the proximity wasn't startling, not after what they'd done, he lit it for her. "You often spend your time with women like me?" She questioned.

He did. 

He craved intimacy but he was afraid of it. All at the same time.

"Whores or black women?"

A smile tugged at Ivy's lips, but they weren't looking at each other. "Both." She answered.

"I do with whores." He admitted. Ivy let the information sink in, if she could know the exact times, she could know when and where the boss of the Peaky blinders was preoccupied. She nodded. "How'd you end up here?" He asked, and Ivy wasn't sure what to answer with.

"I was an alcoholic." She didn't know why she thought being truthful would be a good idea. "My mum kicked me out." That wasn't a lie, either. Tommy digested the information with slow nods. "What about you?" She asked and Tommy's brows furrowed. "Me?" He asked.

"What brings you here?" She was pretty certain she knew the answer. 

My wife died and it was my fault. 

"Same as everyone else." He sighed, his head turned to the topless woman on his right. "Why did your mum kick you out?" It couldn't of been just the drinking, he assumed. Ivy bit the inside of her cheek, her green eyes seemed ablaze and Tommy wanted to know the answer even more, now. "Im a mother, too." He didn't tear his gaze from her face. He noticed her jaw sharpen, and she was blinking much faster than before; but her voice never once wavered. "I was a mother and a drunk, I prioritised the latter. I wasn't any good to her. I don't get to see her, probably for the best anyway." She blew a puff of smoke from her lips, her mind full on thoughts of her beautiful girl. She hadn't spoken about her to anyone, not even her brothers. 

Tommy's heart sank at the thought of never being able to see Charlie, again. He knew that one day he would have questions and there'd be a point in time that he would realise that he wasn't any good, either. 

"What about the father, he in the picture?" He asked and Ivy scoffed. 

"If he was in the picture I wouldn't be doing this." She said with a small smile, when she looked at him, he looked away. "Right. Stupid question." He scolded himself. She was looking at him so intently, like she was trying to figure him out, and he didn't like it. 

"Why are you really here, Thomas?" She asked and he looked at her, not sure what she was really asking. "There are so many girls in London who would jump at a chance to be courted by you." She didn't see any change in his expression, but his eyes wavered, and he couldn't stop himself from admiring the lovely mix of green her eyes were. He was vulnerable, and although she hadn't mentioned it, he was sure she knew he had cried into the crook of her neck, but he wasn't ashamed; that's what confused him. 

"Can't go through it again." His voice was just a low, ruptured rumble and in that moment, he was a man grieving, and he had no one but a woman he supposed was a whore that he could bring himself to speak about it with.

It must've been the eyes, his moment of vulnerability, or his need to feel something but he reached out and tested how her face felt in his hand. Her jaw was sharp but her skin was smooth in his roughened hands, he traced a thumb over her cheek, just to know how it felt to have someone in that way again. There was a nagging voice in her head telling her not to, but she was a brutally selfish woman, and this was her time to be selfless, even if he wouldn't see it that way if he ever got the chance to unravel the truth. So, she ignored the possible consequences and let the hurting man reach forward and press his lips to her own. He was so gentle as he did it, his calloused hand was still on her cheek when he pulled away and their foreheads hadn't left each other's. 

For Tommy, it felt like for a moment, the world wasn't spinning, everything wasn't crumbling apart. There was only the comfort of each other's silence and understanding of one another. It felt nice.


End file.
